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Conand Tower is far.
Claude’s never been there before, and thus has no real impression of it other than exactly that. It’s nestled in one of the furthest corners of the Kingdom, far enough that he wonders why the Blue Lions weren’t deployed for this mission instead. At least they’d be more familiar with the distance, and the terrain… and the weather.
It’s not snowing but the wind on its own bites at him all the same. Claude shivers, exhaling a shaky breath that billows up in front of him like smoke. He doesn’t hate the cold, but he’s not exactly enjoying himself either. It’s hard to warm up to Faerghus’s climate when his skin is prickled and his teeth are chattering as loudly as the wind is howling.
“Ugh, this sucks,” Hilda complains, popping up next to him. “We’ve been wandering through the middle of nowhere forever. Is the Professor trying to make us all freeze to death?”
Putting her usual dramatics aside, even Claude has trouble disagreeing with her. The Deer have been marching for a few hours now, long enough for everyone to have gotten at least a little tired while nightfall crept up on them.
“It won’t be too much longer until we call it a night,” he says to her, now beginning to rub his hands up and down his arms for friction. “I can’t imagine a tent will do much to protect against a Faerghus winter though. We’ll be lucky if we aren’t still frostbitten when we make it to the tower.”
Hilda groans loudly and throws her head back like she’s being scolded by her parents. “It never ends. I’d rather spend the night in the Valley of Torment than out here.”
Claude nods, puffing a short laugh at her frustration. She’s right that even Aillel’s pits of fire are more appealing than the plains they’re currently trudging through, and he grins as the thought gives him an idea.
“Hey, Lysithea, how about putting that mage certification to use and conjuring a bonfire for us?”
“Absolutely not. I won’t be wasting my precious energy just because you can’t handle a little cold wind,” she snaps back. Despite the sharp words and equally sharp glare, she is, of course, shivering just as conspicuously as the rest of them.
“You’d leave your dear friends to perish in this frigid, unforgiving wasteland? Sounds like that cold wind’s frozen your heart over!”
“Shut up, Claude.”
Hilda giggles, quickly catching on. “How about you, Lorenz? You’ve mastered Fire, haven’t you?”
“I am on horseback, Hilda. Magic is outside the realm of possibility for me, I’m afraid,” Lorenz reminds her, managing to sound like he’s lamenting some great tragedy. Missing out on the chance to save the day by showing off his astonishing magic skills probably is a tragedy in his eyes.
“But you’re so good at using magic! None of us can cast Fire like you can,” Hilda puts on an awe-struck voice, one so embellished that surely not even Lorenz could fall for it.
“We’re almost there,” Byleth cuts in, serene, like the cold isn’t even remotely hindering them.
“Almost where?” Leonie asks, sounding sceptical. “I don’t see anything that could be a tower.”
“Traversing through the cold of night is too dangerous,” the resident Kingdom expert informs them. Gilbert, if Claude remembers correctly. Up until now, the knight had been so quiet that it was like he wasn’t even there. “We will be stopping at a nearby inn and resuming our march at dawn.”
At that, Claude would have jumped for joy if his legs weren't beginning to turn numb. An inn might as well be a palace right now, even if the inn in question turns out to be far smaller than any palace he’s ever stayed in. All the same, he greets the innkeeper with an easy smile and thanks her for her hospitality. A place to sleep is a place to sleep and a bed is even better. He heads upstairs and pauses at the landing, surveying the short hallway in front of him. Five rooms on either side, along with what he assumes is some sort of supply closet at the far end. Small, but just big enough for each of them to have a room of their own.
“Pair off, students,” Byleth suddenly says, putting a swift end to that train of thought.
Claude’s head whips around, and a series of confused ‘what’s and ‘huh’s fill the air as the rest of the Deer follow suit.
“The innkeepers are unable to provide each of you with a room on such short notice. The people of Galatea are staying here as well, and I do not believe I need to tell you not to disturb them,” Gilbert clarifies once more.
Well. This is going to be interesting. Whether it’s going to be a good interesting or a bad interesting, Claude doesn’t know, though he suspects the latter will have the former beaten out.
He turns, confirming what he already knew. Ignatz and Raphael are friends, so of course they’d pair up with each other. Approaching one of the girls isn’t worth the stern lecture he’d receive from Seteth at the post-mission debriefing. Byleth is similarly out of the question and Gilbert’s mere presence is so gloomy that Claude would almost prefer sleeping outside.
That leaves just one person. One who will doubtless have a lot to say as soon as he realises the predicament they’re in.
“You cannot be serious. I am to share a room with Claude?”
Right on cue.
Claude turns and is met with the sight of Lorenz leering at him like he somehow planned for this to happen. Rather than entertaining him with a reply, Claude instead sighs and opens the door to the room Byleth directs them to. It’s plain, with nothing more than a wooden dresser that looks almost as old as Garreg Mach and a bed tucked into a corner.
One, singular bed.
He was right; this is definitely going to be the bad kind of interesting.
After a pause, Lorenz follows him inside, his glare still firmly in place. He doesn’t say a word as he casts his eyes around in distaste, stiffening when he sees what Claude sees. Then, he spins on his heel and storms right back out.
“Excuse me, Professor,” his voice says from down the hall, dripping with exactly the kind of annoyance Claude expected and more. “I believe there has been a mistake with my assigned room. You see, I am expected to share it with someone else and yet there is one bed, not two.”
Byleth’s reply is too quiet for Claude to hear, but it can’t have been to Lorenz’s liking as he strides back inside moments later and buries his face in his hands.
“This is outrageous,” he mutters, seemingly to himself, before lifting his head and proclaiming, like it’s the greatest idea he’s ever had, “I am going to speak with the innkeeper and request alternate arrangements.”
“Go ahead,” Claude shrugs, helping himself to a seat on the bed. “We’ll see how quickly the story of the Gloucester heir making a scene in front of some poor innkeeper makes it back to the monastery. Or, even better, your father.”
Lorenz halts from where he’d begun pacing and stares, his eye twitching.
“You speak as though this arrangement is to your liking,” he accuses, stalking over to close the door as if someone would bother listening in. “I, on the other hand, would sooner sleep on the floor than share a bed with you.”
“And go into battle tomorrow ready to keel over from exhaustion and muscle strain? Not even you’re stubborn enough to let yourself get killed like that,” Claude shoots back, eyes hardening. He sighs again, reining himself in before his irritation can grow. “Come on, Lorenz. It’s just for one night and complaining won’t change anything.”
Resigned, he pulls himself fully onto the bed and rolls over to face the wall, hoping for Lorenz to take the hint and keep any further arguments to himself. He doesn’t, of course.
“One night is one more than I would have ever wished to spend in your company, I’ll have you know. And furthermore—“
He doesn’t finish, however, when the door flies open. Claude lifts his head in curiosity to see Hilda peeking inside, her hair let down and a pout upon her face.
“Would you two shut up? Some of us are trying to sleep,” she whisper-shouts and shuts the door before either of them can reply.
Claude lays back down, the exhaustion of a long day catching up to him. Weighed down by the knowledge that this night isn’t going to be fun for anybody, he kicks his boots off and tugs the blanket up to his chin. It’s thin, can barely be called soft, and does little to chase away the chill in his bones.
“What are you doing?” Lorenz asks as if it wasn’t obvious.
“Going to bed,” Claude replies plainly, only a little muffled into his pillow. “You should probably do the same if you want to get this over and done with.”
A minute passes, wherein Claude isn’t sure what to expect and closes his eyes as he gives up on expecting anything. Then, he hears a deep, weary sigh followed by soft footsteps and feels the mattress beside him dip. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to tell that Lorenz’s movements are excessively slow and reluctant like he’s laying down on a bed of spikes.
But, somehow, someway, he eventually settles into a suitable position and the sounds of shifting, rustling fabric stop. The thick, tense silence that immediately settles over the room is a stark contrast to Claude’s mind, immediately racing with the full impact of the situation. Here he is, sharing a tiny, cramped bed with Lorenz of all people, spending a night getting up close and personal with his classmate who hates him the most out of anyone in the whole monastery.
If nothing else was going to ensure that Claude wouldn’t get a wink of sleep, that fact certainly would.
Or maybe it would be a combination of that fact and the ever-present, ever-irritating sting of freezing air against his skin.
Claude glares futilely at nothing in particular, hoping and praying to whichever god might be listening that the feeling in his fingers has returned by the time he’ll need them to draw his arrows.
And then Lorenz manages to make everything even worse by opening his mouth.
“Stop shivering. You’re making the whole bed shake.”
Claude huffs. The nerve.
“It’s not something I can just turn off, Lorenz. Faerghus is cold. Galatea is cold. This bed is cold. You’re just going to have to deal with it.”
“Don’t be foolish,” Lorenz scoffs as if the concept of being cold is below him. “You could just as easily stop yourself from doing it, but you seem intent on dragging this night out and making it as aggravating as possible.”
Claude is a second away from quipping back when he instinctively sits up and scowls at his bedmate through the darkness. As expected, Lorenz has his back turned and is stubbornly lying as far away from Claude as he physically can, to the point where he must be a sneeze away from falling out.
“I can think of one way to stop but I think you’d rather I stay cold,” Claude states, barely before a solution has finished forming in his mind.
Lorenz turns his head the barest amount, a brow cocked in wordless scepticism.
He’s really not going to like this, Claude thinks. Despite himself, he forces down a grin imagining his bedmate’s reaction and swallows his pride with it.
“Come closer.”
In an instant, Lorenz’s eyes fly wide open and he flinches like he’s been burned.
“Are you out of your—“
Claude reaches out to grab Lorenz’s shoulder, squeezing hard before he can throw himself out of the bed and across the room.
“For once in your life, would you please shut your mouth?” He hisses, cutting him off.
Surprisingly, Lorenz listens and stares silently with fury in his eyes.
“Don’t shout. Remember there are other people trying to sleep here, not just us,” Claude continues, speaking slowly and willing his words to sink in. “All I’m saying is that I can’t think of a better way to stave off the cold than by huddling. Can you?”
Lorenz doesn’t move. His mouth drops open but no words come out. He merely continues to stare as his annoyance and indignation slowly give way to shock and confusion. He looks like the very idea of being closer to Claude than absolutely necessary is enough to give him nightmares.
“Fine. Forget I said anything. I guess we’ll both freeze,” Claude bites out when he grows tired of the lingering silence, lying back down and turning away with finality.
Minutes that feel like hours pass before something happens. Part of Claude thinks, part of him hopes that that’s the end of it, but then he feels movement at his back. A peek over his shoulder confirms his theory and his eyes widen. Lorenz has crept closer to the centre of the mattress, closer to Claude. Far too close, yet not close enough.
“I merely… do not want my usefulness in tomorrow’s battle to be diminished by a poor night’s sleep. That is all,” he grouses, as if an explanation was needed. “Do not make that face at me,” he adds after a pause, but the words sound more like “don’t look at me.”
A protest of ‘what face’ is right on Claude’s lips when he manages to hold his tongue, knowing that such a question will only lead to more bickering. Instead, he gives a jerky, hesitant nod and begins to shift his posture. He didn’t expect Lorenz to actually agree but now that he has, Claude has no choice but to follow his lead.
Slowly, like Lorenz is a small, easily-startled creature, Claude rolls over so that they’re facing each other and inches closer, and closer, and closer still. Their shoulders bump and he jolts away in surprise, before leaning back into the touch and forcing his body to relax. When he looks up to gauge how Lorenz is faring, he finds him already staring back, speechless.
The resulting silence grows even heavier than before until Claude swears he could cut the tension in the room with a sword.
Disbelievingly, he wonders to himself how in the world he ended up in this position and reminds himself that this was his idea. An idea that he clearly didn’t think through because now their faces are mere inches apart. Close enough to spot finer details he’s never noticed before, like how long Lorenz’s eyelashes are, how shiny his hair is, how clear and smooth his skin is. Close enough to—
“Maybe this was a bad idea,“ Claude mutters with a rush of warmth to his cheeks.
“Do not speak,” Lorenz whispers back, averting his eyes in embarrassment. “It’s working, is it not?”
Only Lorenz could say ‘do not speak’ and then ask a question to which he expects an answer.
When Claude goes quiet to keep himself from pointing this out, he realises, to his immense relief, that Lorenz is right. The warmth emanating from both of their faces would border on overwhelming if it wasn’t similar to a breath of fresh air simultaneously. He suspects that isn’t what Lorenz means though, so he stretches out his legs and flexes his fingers, grinning as he feels their shared body heat beginning to thaw him out.
Maybe tonight won’t be so unbearable after all. If anything, he’s at least eliminated the possibility of freezing to death.
“Yeah. It is working,” he yawns and closes his eyes, putting an end to his face-studying. “Night, Lorenz.”
The longest pause yet, wherein Claude almost thinks Lorenz has already fallen asleep, and then he hears a soft murmur.
“Goodnight, Claude.”
Mattress springs squeak as the warmth at his side shifts slightly, before stark stillness settles over the room once more. While he waits for sleep to claim him, Claude begins to focus on his breathing, only to lose count and drift off when Lorenz’s breaths slow to match his own. When he wakes hours later, pleasantly rested and very comfortable, it takes a moment to place the solid weight next to him as Lorenz.
It takes several more to realise that that can’t be right because Lorenz is much, much closer than he was earlier.
Trying to recall just how they ended up so amalgamated quickly proves fruitless when Claude can’t see how they look from an insider’s perspective, let alone an outsider’s. His head is tucked beneath Lorenz’s chin, giving him an eyeful of Lorenz’s clothed collarbones. Their bodies are pressed flush together from torso to ankle, connected like pieces of the world’s strangest puzzle. Arms ensnare and hold each other close, winding around shoulders and hips, hands splaying across backs, gently but as if they never intend on letting go. Lorenz is still blissfully asleep, his chest rhythmically rising and falling beneath Claude’s palm.
This isn’t good.
Well, Claude thinks, catching himself. It’s not bad, because holding and being held by Lorenz like this is warm and oddly safe and makes him want to fall right back asleep, but it’s also not good. He needs to move before Lorenz wakes up and sees, or worse, Byleth comes in and sees, or worse still, any of the other Deer come in and see.
As slowly and carefully as he’d handle a priceless heirloom, Claude pries his arm from around Lorenz’s back. A rush of brisk morning air instantly assaults him and he winces, retreating back under the blanket to drive it out. Their arms knock and he freezes from something other than the weather as Lorenz begins to stir.
Eyes wide and ‘I can explain’ on the tip of his tongue, Claude pulls back to watch Lorenz blink blearily and attempt to run a hand down his face. But, his hand isn’t where he expects it to be and he grumbles in a mix of sleepy confusion and annoyance, forcing his eyes to slowly focus.
Then, all of a sudden, he’s halfway across the room, staring at Claude in horror. He fists his hands in his mussed hair, his mouth opening and closing a few times without saying anything.
“I— You— We— Oh, dear Goddess…” is all he can manage before he gives up on words and begins to pace in circles, full of energy for someone who was rubbing the sleep from his eyes just moments ago. Breathing as fast as he is loud, he quickly whips his head up, panicked eyes staring without seeing.
“Claude, listen to me. You must— You cannot ever— What happened can never leave this room. Do you understand?”
“What could I possibly gain from telling anyone what happened? Come on, Lorenz, do you really think I'd—”
“Swear it.”
Claude swallows the rest of his sentence, feeling a chill race down his spine. The desperation, the raw fear coating Lorenz’s words isn’t just for show. Is he trembling?
“I swear. No one will ever know.”
Lorenz’s only reaction is a quick nod and a lost look before he disappears from the room in a single blur of movement. Claude stares at the empty space where he had been, shocked and ever so slightly transfixed by what he just witnessed.
It’s not often that one of the most eloquent people he knows gets so flustered that he can’t form complete sentences, but Lorenz wasn’t flustered just now. The terror written all over his face, the ragged breathing, the speechlessness, the borderline begging…
This was much worse than any reaction that Claude’s teasing and tricks have ever pulled from him.
Something must be wrong.
But he swore that it wouldn't ever leave this room and he’s a man of his word. He closes the door to the room, locking away the memory of Lorenz sleeping peacefully along with it.
He can’t think about that right now.
They’ve got a march to resume, a battle to win, and a lance to retrieve.